Gone
by TwilighterRenthead
Summary: Mark disappears without a trace, and the bohemians must find him, or risk knowing they'll never see they're friend, their rock, their brother, again. A continuation of Gone, by Ultra-Geek. Chapter four is my first original chapter for this. It's up!
1. Prolouge

A/N: OK, so this is a continuation of a story written by Ultra-Geek (used with permission). The first three chapters are hers, and after that it's mine. I read them and loved it, and had a feeling it wouldn't be updated for a while, so I PMed her and "got the rights." So here's Gone, 2.0.

Prologue

It was an age old cliché. The hero would start out the day realizing that there was no food left in the refrigerator, or that his alarm clock didn't go off. Perhaps even both. He'd race off to work, and have the day from hell with the _boss _from hell. Menial tasks would be performed that really weren't necessary at all.

The work day would be tied off with our hero being fired. Now how were the bills going to get paid, how are medications going to be bought? So, to ease on his troubles, he goes and does something that relaxes him. That something just happens to be walking aimlessly around the city filming clips of pigeons and other worthless things.

This particular hero ends up walking past a Temple that small children are walking out of, running to their parents to go home. An elderly woman walks up to him with a suspicious look in her eyes. She wishes to know why he's filming the children. Explaining, he tells her of his childhood at a temple and that he's a filmmaker. She relaxes, and invites him inside. He declines; he should've been back at the loft hours ago. She tells him that he's welcome anytime before walking to her car.

As he walks, he wonders how ends will meet. He could take up a few new jobs, and as he is immersed in his thoughts, he doesn't hear or see the four men walking behind him. He then thinks the dooming thought.

_Well, at least things can't get any worse._

If it was a movie, the skies would've opened up and poured down on him. If it was a cartoon and he was Daffy Duck, an anvil would fall from no where and crush him. But it's not a movie, and he's not a duck. He's just another starving artist who thought the damning thought.

As soon as he thought it, one of the men brought a piece of wood to his head, and the last thing he hears before he fades into oblivion is an angry voice cursing him and his kind.

As bad as his day was, Mark Cohen's day just got worse.


	2. Worry

Roger walked into the loft. It had been a day beyond perfection. He'd woken up to find Mark already gone to work. He'd taken a shower, and deducted that besides a moldy hunk of cheese and some milk that now vaguely resembled cottage cheese, there was no food in the loft. So, he'd done something that one of the others always did. He went grocery shopping.

Roger had recently taken up a job as a bartender, and was thoroughly enjoying having money. While the bulk of the rent and living necessities still went to Mark, it was nice to be able to pay some of it. Once at the grocery store, he spent a good hour walking around and placing stuff into the cart. Once he got back, he'd finished a song. Then he went over to the Life to see how Mimi's new waitressing job was going. He'd be the first to admit he preferred this job to the old one. Once done there, he'd walked around the city, just enjoying the winter.

Now, it was starting to get dark, and as it got darker, Roger got increasingly worried. Mark should've been back hours ago. Mimi walked in to find Roger pacing. She put a hand on his shoulder. "What's wrong?"

Roger shrugged, and simply said "Mark's not back yet."

Mimi smiled. "He probably just got caught up filming or something. It wouldn't be the first time." That _was _true. Mark was famous, or maybe more infamous, for staying out and not realizing the time. But Roger couldn't help but worry, and Mimi knew that. "I'm going to bed, love. I'll see you tomorrow." Kissing him goodnight, she walked into their room.

Roger decided to stay up and wait just a _little _longer. Only thing was, when he opened his eyes, he saw sunlight streaming in through the windows. Looking at the clock on the wall, and seeing the time, jumped up. There was a note from Mimi saying that one of the other waitresses had called in sick so she was working a double shift. Roger stretched, and remembered why he'd fallen asleep on the couch last night. His first thought was that Mark had work, but it was Saturday.

Peeking into the filmmaker's room, he saw that the bed was still in the same disarray as last night. Mark had never come back the night before. He was probably just closer to Collins' place, Roger decided. Stayed there the night. But that didn't explain why he didn't call. Mark _always _called.

It was probably late. He didn't want to wake up Roger or Mimi. A thousand different excuses ran around Roger's head as he tried to come up with a perfectly logical one. Finally, he just decided to up and call Collins.

"Hello."

"Collins, its Roger." He said. He was surprised at how high his voice came out. Clearing his throat, he continued. "You haven't seen Mark, have you?"

"Not since Thursday, no."

"Damn it."

"Why?" Collins asked. "Is something wrong?"

"He never came back to the loft last night." Roger said. "There was no note, no call, nothing!"

"Roger, calm down. You're going into Mother-hen mode."

"Will you shut-up? This is serious!"

"Look, before you jump to conclusions, did you call Maureen and Joanne?"

"No…"

"Before we light the torches and send out a search party, make sure he's not there. When you find out if he's there or not, call me back."

"Alright, alright." Roger relented. "Talk to you soon."

He called the two women's apartment, and got the same answer. No, we haven't seen Mark. We'll be over soon, don't worry, we're sure he's fine. But Roger couldn't help but worry. No one knew where his best friend was, and that scared him. Mark was his constant, his co-conspirator, his confidant, his _brother._

He had a right to worry, damn it!


	3. Hope

Three days. It had been three days since Mark had walked out the door and not come back. Three days of searching, phone calls, a missing persons, and have-you-seen-him signs. It had been two sleepless nights spent tossing and turning and asking the questions with no answers.

Where is he?

Is he all right?

Is he de…?

The questions would always cut off there. Mimi was terrified of asking _that _question. She had come to the conclusion that if she asked that, then the answer would come in some shape or form. And she wasn't so sure she would like the answer.

The last two mornings, Mimi would wake up, and allow herself a break from reality. She'd lie in bed, and tell herself that Mark was in the kitchen, getting ready to go to work, and telling Roger to take his AZT. But, then she'd come back to earth, remember that Roger had in fact gotten up early to search more, and that Mark wasn't there. It was her morning routine.

This morning, she decided to do something different. She went on the floor and dug under the bed. She finally pulled out a cardboard box. Opening the lid, it was revealed to hold a film camera. Mimi had meant to give it to Mark as a Christmas present. The one he had was so beat up that she was waiting for it to just disintegrate one day.

Setting it carefully on a tripod like Mark had shown her once; she moved a chair into its line of vision. She sat in the chair and grinned sadly at the camera before starting.

"November 7, 1992," She looked at the clock on the wall. "10:30 AM, Eastern Standard time. Hey, Marky. You've been gone for nearly three days now. I just know when you get back you'll throw a fit for missing all of your filming time. So, I've decided to do it for you babe. It won't be as good as your stuff, but hey! You can't blame a girl for trying." Mimi looked at her hands, wondering what to say. She looked back up at the camera.

We all miss you, Mark. I never realized how much we all leaned on you." Mimi wiped her eyes, finding she was crying. "Come back soon." She finished, whispering. She flicked off the camera as the phone in the loft started to ring.

Mimi walked over and stared at the answering machine. She'd picked up the habit of screening her calls, and she just couldn't bring herself to answer. She knew of the calls from Mark's family, and no one wanted to be the one to answer that. "Speak."

"Yes, I'm calling from the Memorial Hospital; we have someone here who matches the description of a Mark Cohen…"

Mimi jumped up and grabbed the phone. "Yes? I mean, you did!"

xXx

Maureen walked into the loft, hollering for Mimi. Not seeing her anywhere, she waltzed over to the refrigerator (even though her hopes of finding anything edible were slim) and pulled it open. Walking back towards the couch with something that at one time might have been cheese; a florescent pink sticky-note caught her attention next to the phone.

_Went down the hospital  
Play the message, it'll explain!  
Mimi_

So, Maureen pressed the play button.

xXx

Mimi dashed over to the front desk. "May I help you?" The attendant asked, not looking like she cared either way.

"Yeah, I got a call, you found my friend? Mark, Mark Cohen." She answered, completely flustered.

"One second." The woman responded. She began to do something on the computer. "Are you relation to Mr. Cohen?"

"Um, yes," Mimi lied. She quietly slipped a ring off of her right hand and onto her left. "He's my fiancé."

"All right," The attendant's voice took a small air of sympathy to it. She paged a doctor over the loudspeaker of the hospital. A few minutes later, said doctor walked up.

Mimi looked at him. "Do you know where Mark is or not?" she asked on the desperate side. She wanted to know where he was!

"We have a body matching his description." Mimi's breath caught in her throat at the word 'body'. "We need identification."

The two walked down the halls into a room that had small, square, metal doors along the walls. The doctor stopped and pulled open one of the doors. He pulled out a tray that had a body covered by a sheet lying on it. He flipped the sheet off of the person's head, and looking at Mimi, asked, "Is this Mark Cohen?"

Mimi closed her eyes at the sight of the body, and breathed out her answer…


	4. Falling Apart

A/N: OK, so this is where it starts being mine! Deep, grateful thanks to Ultra-Geek, once again.

"No. No, it's not," she whispered, silent tears streaming down her face. The body spread out before her was one that looked similar to Mark, but his skin was too tan, and his hair was too red. She couldn't see his eyes; due to the fact the corpse's eyelids were shut.

One more chance that he was alive.

"Very well," said the doctor, leading her back out. She sobbed quietly in relief. He wasn't dead. Not for sure, anyway.  
The receptionist bade her goodbye and good luck in her search for her "fiancé." She stopped at a payphone down the street and dialed the oh-so-familiar phone number.

"SPEEEEEEEEEEEAK."

She smiled slightly. After she had moved in, Roger had insisted on rerecording the answering machine message so that she was included in it.

"Hey, Roger, it's me. I know you're-"

"Mimi?"

"Hey, Maureen."

"DID YOU FIND HIM!?" She shrieked.

Mimi winced slightly.

"No, but-"

"Is he at the hospital!?"

"Maureen, I-"

"Is he ok?!"

"MAUREEN! Shut up and listen!" She snapped. "I didn't find Mark at the hospital. They had a body that they thought matched his description, but it wasn't him. I posed as his fiancé, so they let me in to identify the body. It wasn't him, Maureen. There's still a chance he's alive…."

"Ok…"Maureen said as she digested this news. "I'll call Joanne. She's out looking with Roger and Collins."  
"Ok. I'll be home soon."

"'Kay. Bye."

"Bye."

She still couldn't believe it. Mark was missing. The rock of their family was gone. She walked along the streets, staring at the buildings and the sky in bewilderment. They had already lost Angel. Not Mark, too. What would Roger do? Mark was his brother, the one who had known him longest, the one who knew him inside out. If Mark were… she didn't even want to think about it.

xXx

Collins, Joanne, and Roger had taken a break from searching for Mark and gone to the Life for lunch and, in Roger's case, a drink.

"Roger, slow down," Joanne said as he knocked back a third shot of straight whisky. "I understand you need a drink, but you'll be no use in helping Mark if you're smashed out of your mind."

"I know," he said, staring at the table, head in his hands, "but I just… I can't do this. I've already lost April. We lost Angel, and almost Mimi. Now Mark. What the hell did I do to bring this shit on our  
family?"

"Rog, it's not your fault," Collins began.

"Yes it is. I'm the one who screwed up the most. I got involved with the drugs, which got me HIV, and caused April to commit suicide, made me depressed…."

"But it all turned out ok. You got out, you kicked the habit, you found Mimi."

"I got HIV."

Before either could answer him, Joanne's cell phone rang.

"Hello? Hi, Maureen… The hospital?...." Collins and Roger strained to hear Maureen on the other end. "Uh-huh… Mimi?... A body… Ok… She's sure?... Ok, I'll tell them…Bye, Honeybear.

"The hospital called. They thought they had a body the hospital that they thought was one that matched Mark's description, but it wasn't him. Mimi went in and posed as his fiancée so they'd let her in. It wasn't him. She called Maureen, who was at the Loft, and told her to call us."

Roger continued to stare at the table. There was nothing that could be said to make him even remotely smile.

"Man, you gotta keep up hope. They way you look, god, you look like you did post-April," Collins said.

Roger's head snapped up.

"Don't you DARE bring that up. Not now."

Roger wasn't known for handling stressful situations well, and Collins knew this, but was nonetheless hurt.

"There's no need to attack me, Roger! I'm just as worried as you are about him!"

"It's not the same for you. You haven't known him your whole life! He hasn't been there through every single bit of shit that's happened to you!"

"Don't you say that he's not been there! Don't you say I don't know  
him!'

"You've known him for what, five years?!"

"Seven!"

"ROGER! COLLINS! STOP IT!" Joanne shouted. "You two ripping each other's heads off isn't helping ANYTHING! I'm just as worried as both of you! He's my friend, too!"

The two friends guiltily looked up at an on-the-verge-of-tears Joanne. They had only ever seen her cry once, at Angel's funeral.

"Jo-"

"Stop it! Just stop it. Between the two of you, I don't know which is worse, you, Roger, for getting drunk and starting on Collins, or you, Collins, for taking what a drunk said personally and fighting back!

"How do you expect us to find Mark when you're trying to kill each other?! It just doesn't work! We're a family! And we're a family that's falling apart. We need to find Mark, and fast, or I'm afraid we may not last much longer."

Collins and Roger stared at their friend, knowing that she was quite possibly right.


End file.
